


Sweet Talk

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Boyd, Consensual, Established Relationship, M/M, Oneshot, PWP, Porn, Top Stiles, blindfold, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stoyd PWP, involving bondage. Boyd bottoms, Stiles tops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Talk

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoys the Stoyd porn!
> 
> (Also the title came from Sweet Talk by Kito & Reija Lee.)

Soft, cotton sheets stick against Boyd’s sweat-soaked skin as he shifts on the bed. They probably should have done this on silk sheets, Boyd thinks, but then again, there wasn’t a lot of thought put into it. At least, not for Boyd. Stiles seems to have been planning this for a while. But you can’t account for everything, and Boyd makes a mental reminder to tell Stiles later that they need silk sheets next time. He’d do it now, but his mouth’s full. 

Stiles is gasping above him, and Boyd can’t see past the blindfold, but he knows Stiles is flushed. He can picture the red stains on Stiles’ cheeks and the lush rouge of his gaping lips. He wonders if Stiles’ eyes are closed, or if the brown orbs are watching, taking in the way his cock fucks into Boyd’s mouth. The headboard creaks, and Boyd thinks Stiles is holding onto it, using it for leverage as he slams against Boyd’s throat. 

Heavy duty chains jangle as Boyd pulls on his binds. They’re strong, werewolf proof to keep Boyd from breaking out of them – and he’s tried. His ankles are bound too and there’s not a lot of give, though there’s enough slack that he can rock his hips upward, hard dick straining above him, desperate for friction. When he moves, he can feel his asscheeks flex around the toy inside of him. It’s big and unwieldy, but when he bears down, he can almost get it to move. It’s a far cry from the real thing and Boyd groans, tensing. His tailbone peels away from the sheets and cool air wafts over his back, providing some relief against his overheated skin. 

Pre-cum slides down Boyd’s cock, and he feels the teasing touch of the liquid lick against his sensitive flesh. It’s slow – so _slow_ \- in its movements and Boyd moans, the sound rippled and broken apart around Stiles’ thrusting hardness. Stiles doesn’t cease in his movements, but his hand comes down, holding Boyd’s head in place with a firm grip. 

“Fuck, baby. So good.” Stiles groans. Boyd hates being called baby. Stiles knows that. Asshole. 

Stiles comes, flooding Boyd’s mouth. He keeps his cock in place, ordering Boyd to swallow in a strained voice. Stiles is always really sensitive post-orgasm, and the heat of Boyd’s mouth must be overwhelming. It gets worse when Boyd swallows, muscles working around Stiles as he struggles to get the cum down. Stiles pulls out with a grunt. 

Boyd gasps, thickness on his tongue from Stiles’ seed and mouth slick from saliva and sweat. His legs twist restlessly as he arches his hips. 

“Stiles.” He says, voice hoarse. “Come on.” 

“You’re not really in a position to tell me what to do, you know.” Stiles says smugly, moving away from Boyd. 

“God, Stiles.” Boyd mutters. He’s not sure what else to say. He can hear Stiles moving around the room, and he thinks about telling him to go fuck himself, or better yet, fuck Boyd, but then there’s a click and Boyd can’t say anything at all. He lets out a wordless cry, the best that he can manage, as the toy inside him comes to life, trembling against this prostate. 

Stiles’ feet whisper across the floorboards as he approaches Boyd, coming up to the werewolf’s bedside and trailing his fingertips over Boyd’s shin. The werewolf shakes and his tongue comes out to wet his lip, the lingering taste of Stiles’ cock bursting across his taste buds. Stiles’ hand journeys upward, flickering over Boyd’s knee then brushing his thigh. Boyd holds his body still, muscles taut from the effort it takes. His chest rises and falls rapidly with his breaths. Stiles reaches Boyd’s pelvis and there’s a pause where Boyd stops breathing, and then Stiles’ hand is around his dick, fisting him firmly and stroking. 

The chains clink as Boyd’s back bows and his limbs flinch. His neck arches, head digging back into the mattress. 

“Beautiful.” Stiles says. The bed dips, Stiles’ weight displacing Boyd somewhat as he makes his way between the werewolf’s thighs. The action forces Boyd’s legs up and apart, and the binding pulls tight. 

Stiles’ fingers press against Boyd’s hole as he grabs the toy, twisting it. Boyd lets out a whine high in his throat, toes curling and hips twitching up. Stiles leans down and Boyd’s right leg moves higher, the binding biting deep into his ankle. The hurt’s oddly pleasant, especially when contrasted with the gentle kisses Stiles presses to his inner thigh. Stiles pulls on the toy and it tugs at Boyd’s swollen hole, making him whimper. The vibrator goes back in and Stiles licks his way downward, lapping over Boyd’s balls and then up his cock. 

Boyd’s breathing harsh and heavy, lips apart and nostrils flaring. He’s trying to reign himself in – trying not to go crazy, because Stiles is teasing him. He’s close to begging at this point. He thinks that’s what Stiles wants. Boyd’s torn between giving in, because he and Stiles are long past pride with one another, and trying to see how much more he can take. It’s not much, it turns out, because there’s a click as Stiles turns the toy up and then Boyd’s pleading - babbled, earnest requests that slip past his lips before he can stop them. 

“Oh god Stiles, come on. Please, make me come. I need…god, please.” 

Boyd feels the breath Stiles lets out, quick and warm, against his skin. He shivers and bites his lip, another drop of pre-cum dripping out. Stiles’ tongue sweeps over the head of Boyd’s cock, collecting the liquid, and Boyd chokes, hips curling forward and legs shaking. 

Boyd whimpers, teeth clenching shut and lips pursing together as he tries to stifle the noise. Boyd’s quiet, usually, but with Stiles he tends to get loud – especially during sex. He tends to get a little too loud in fact, due to the singular focus and determination Stiles seems to have put into making Boyd as vocal as superhumanly possible. 

Stiles slides the toy out slowly and Boyd hisses, hole feeling empty and swollen. 

“Can I fuck you?” Stiles asks, fingers tracing gently over his entrance. 

Boyd gulps, cheeks heating. “You still hard?” He asks. Stiles usually takes a while to get it up after he comes, but there are days sometimes when he seems to get hard again in a matter of seconds. There are days when he can fuck Boyd for hours. 

“Yeah.” Stiles says, pressing a light kiss to the inside of Boyd’s leg. 

“God, Stiles. Fuck me.” Boyd says, embarrassed when he realizes he sounds like a porn star who’s trying too hard. Stiles enjoys it though, letting out a groan and clutching at Boyd’s thigh with rough fingers. Boyd recognizes the action as Stiles trying to calm himself down. 

Boyd had always thought, when they started this, that he’d be the one constantly trying to control himself. Stiles has this habit of just driving him wild, breaking past his cool composure and making him feel like he’s on fire. It doesn’t empower Boyd though, it doesn’t make him strong, not like he first thought. It makes him weak, first at the knees and then spreading everywhere else, until he’s a gooey mess. He’s mesmerized by Stiles. 

Where Boyd goes soft, Stiles gets hard. He pushes and prods and takes everything Boyd has to offer. His fidgety movements become precise and measured, he becomes focused and, well, Boyd wouldn’t say calm – never calm, not Stiles – but a close approximation of it. The energy becomes less nervous, like Stiles is more at ease with it when he can use it to press against and down and into Boyd. 

Not that they never switch it up. Boyd has his moments, and Stiles is beautiful when he’s under him – or on top of him, riding him breathlessly. Boyd loves taking Stiles apart. He loves those moments when Stiles is needy and pliant, grasping at his shoulders while the werewolf fucks into him, watching his eyelashes flutter and his mouth form a pleasant ‘o’ shape when he hits his prostate. And when Stiles comes, scrabbling into the sheets and shuddering helplessly, his whole body a breathtaking portrait of pleasure, it’s absolutely gorgeous. 

Boyd thinks about this while Stiles slides into him and he’s hit by just how much he loves his partner. It’s ridiculous, because Stiles is, well, ridiculous. But he’s everything else too. He’s quiet moments in the library; he’s loud moments everywhere else; he’s breakfast out on the balcony while the sun comes up; he’s a furrow of concentration, contemplating his work; he’s a bad joke; he’s a serious moment; he’s vulnerable and understanding; he’s cheekbones and soft lips and honey-colored eyes that look at Boyd with the weight of the world mixed into flecks of gold. 

Boyd twitches around Stiles, breath quickening with anticipation and hunger. 

“Stiles, please.” Boyd says, and Stiles presses a light kiss to his lips. His heart jumps and his mouth tingles. He wants to kiss Stiles again, properly. 

Stiles’ hand strokes at his side, the rough callouses of his fingers rubbing against slick skin. Stiles’ forehead comes to rest against his shoulder as he fills the werewolf up, going in as far as he can. Boyd only needs a small moment to adjust before he’s shivering and trying to fuck himself on Stiles’ cock, but the binds don’t give him enough room and he groans in frustration. Stiles chuckles against his shoulder. 

“Stiles, come on. Please, just…god, come _on_.” Boyd says, losing his patience. Begging was fun, but if Stiles doesn’t fuck him in the next three seconds, Boyd _will_ kill him. 

“I love you.” Stiles whispers, pressing another peck to his lip. The werewolf whines, desperate and frayed. Stiles spares him, finally, and pulls back before slamming forward. Boyd cries out, half in relief and half in desire, as Stiles clutches at his hip and thigh and thrusts forward. Puffs of air are gasped into Boyd’s chest as Stiles rests his forehead on his shoulder again. 

It’s simultaneously too much and not enough as Stiles fucks him. Boyd wants to come immediately, and he can feel his orgasm close by, hovering just out of his grasp in future moments. But it takes build up, and his sensitive holes already clenching and throbbing, and his dick twitches against the friction of Stiles pelvis, and he’s not sure he could get any closer than he is now but it’s not enough yet. 

Stiles doesn’t let up at all, even as he pants against Boyd’s skin and his fingers shake. Boyd’s whole body tenses and quakes, spasming under the onslaught of pleasure. It’s so intense, Boyd kind of goes numb. Each individual sensation gets lost in a haze as lights dance in front of his eyes and his bottom half floods with heat. 

Nerves crackle and burn and Stiles is moaning against him, losing track of Boyd’s pleasure in the wake of his own. The werewolf’s loosely aware of his partner, knows that it’s Stiles doing this to him and Stiles moving against him, but he’s lost track of the individual sensations that tell him “Stiles’ fingers” and “Stiles’ arms” and “Stiles’ torso.” Stiles’ dick is the one that makes itself known, but Boyd’s most aware of the curved head that presses insistently over his prostate. The actual girth and the motion of the intrusion at his entrance becomes nothing more than a vague point of pleasant contact, getting lost in the cloud of desire. 

Boyd’s wordless. He can’t even manage Stiles’ name anymore, as he rocks desperately against Stiles, getting as much pleasure as he can manage. He wants Stiles deeper, he wants more, but it’s already so much. His dick leaks insistently between them and Boyd gets a little more turned on by how turned on he is. It’s amazing and it’s terrible, because he’s close, he’s so close, he’s almost there, but he’s not there yet and it hurts but it’s fantastic all at the same time. 

Boyd can’t breathe anymore. He thinks he needs a break – needs Stiles to stop for a moment so he can catch his breath and come back to his senses – but Stiles doesn’t stop and Boyd doesn’t ask him to. Stiles is shuddering against him, like it’s taking all his strength to keep going, and his thrusts become slower but deeper. They’re irregular and wonderful and Boyd encourages him, arching his hips up into it and letting out breathless sounds. 

Stiles recovers faster than Boyd can, and then he’s moving quickly again, less shaky as he slams into Boyd. He catches the werewolf mid-noise and it becomes drawn out - a long, quivering whine as it all gets too intense again. It feels endless, and Boyd’s almost crying, searching for his climax in all the confusion.

Boyd’s head turns to the side and he’s gasping against his bicep as he tenses and twitches and burns. A cramp’s forming in his leg and he doesn’t even care, barely even feels it as he pulls helplessly on his binds. His head’s pounding and his heart’s beating wildly in his chest, everything inside him pushed to the limit then further as Stiles fucks him. 

Right when he feels like he’s about to die and it’s all gone too far, he goes taut and his dick gives a mighty twitch. He’s coming, throbbing and convulsing and rocking helplessly against Stiles. His hole’s twitching around Stiles’ cock, contractions that make Stiles moan and slam forward, shaking as he comes inside of Boyd. The werewolf spills onto his stomach, cum shooting out of the head of his cock and leaving tingling pleasure behind. 

Boyd shudders, feeling the weight of Stiles resting against him. He comes back to himself in increments, aware now of the painful throbbing in his ankles and the cramp in his legs. The singular point of contact spreads, from Boyd’s swollen hole to his sensitive cock, to his ribs, where Stiles’ elbows are now digging into him. Saliva has dripped onto Boyd’s shoulder, mixing with sweat and leaving a wet patch on his skin. Not that he’s not wet everywhere else – sticky around his mouth and ass and stomach, and layered in sweat on seemingly every part of his body he can account for. 

He’s gasping and his hips still move up in small, restless motions as sparks of his orgasm still flicker and twist inside him. He’s feeling gooey and thoroughly fucked, and he lets out a sleepy grunt as Stiles shifts. The chains come off and then the blindfold and Boyd blinks, eyes adjusting. He looks at Stiles, taking in his flushed cheeks and mussed hair. He looks gorgeous. 

Stiles has to pull out to undo the chains on Boyd’s ankles and Boyd hisses at the sensation. He feels empty and his sore hole clenches. Stiles slides down, undoing the binds and pressing gentle kisses to the bruises left behind. The wounds are already healing when Stiles comes back up and lays down next to Boyd, cuddling up against him. 

“Was it good?” Stiles asks. 

“Perfect.” Boyd whispers, leaning up and kissing his partner. It’s gentle and slow, fading into no more than a press of lips as they both fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.


End file.
